"I never realized how hard the parting would be."

Cunard's Commodore Sir James Charles was a charmingly affable mariner whose name became synonymous with the RMS Aquitania during much of the 1920s. A seaman of the highest caliber, future-Commodore Robert G. Thelwell summarized him as "the most remarkable man I served under in my life at sea." As Sir James neared his retirement in 1928, however, he began to have a premonition that he would die at sea. He even went so far as to buy a burial plot before his last voyage aboard "The Ship Beautiful."

As Aquitania neared Europe in mid-July 1928, the Commodore was heard to murmur, "I never realized how hard the parting would be" to his staff captain. Sir James was convinced of his imminent death.

Thelwell, a junior officer on that voyage, describes what happened at Cherbourg, France on July 15, 1928:

[Sir James] was obviously unwell but refused the pleas of his officers and the doctor to leave the bridge. He docked the ship but immediately had a severe internal hæmorrhage. On the short passage from Cherbourg he became worse and he was carried down the gangway unconscious at Southampton with only a few hours to live. He was a truly modest man. His headstone in the churchyard of the little village of Netley Marsh in the New Forest bears only his name and the dates of his birth and death.

It seems that the Commodore's premonition was indeed correct. Is there something about the sea that warns its servants of their coming deaths? This surely ranks as an interesting instance in the long - and sometimes bizarre - history of ocean travel.

References: Commodore Robert G. Thelwell, I Captained the Big Ships (London: Arthur Barker Limited, 1961), 36-37.

Sir James's Table

Of all the masters who commanded the RMS Aquitania during her lengthy career, it can be argued that Commodore Sir James Charles was by far the most popular. Commodore Robert G. Thelwell described him as "the most remarkable man I served in my life at sea." His seamanship was superb and he radiated a sort of serene confidence to all who encountered him. He commanded "The Ship Beautiful" for most of the 1920s, and according to historian Daniel Allen Butler:

He was quite possibly the most debonair captain ever to stand on the bridge of any liner: square-jawed, handsome, and dignified in his double-breasted jacket with its four bands of gold braid on the cuffs and two rows of decorations on the left breast, Charles looked and acted every inch the part of a master of the most popular ship on the Atlantic.

He was a charming, affable and humorous host who always kept his passengers entertained and absolutely delighted with stories of his early days at sea. If the man himself was impressive, however, his table was even more so.

Sir James was a known trencherman, or hearty eater. His table was scene to tremendous culinary undertakings, as Elspeth Wills explains:

Whole roast oxen or small herds of gazelles, surmounted by hillocks of foie grass decorated with peacock feathers, were wheeled to [Sir James's] table where champagne was served in jeroboams and soufflés were size of chef’s hats. Confectioners spent hours creating centre pieces in carved ice or spun sugar: on one occasion an electrically illuminated Battle of Waterloo was carried in to the ship’s orchestra playing Elgar.

Is it any wonder that Commodore Sir James Charles was so popular among the passengers?


References: Commodore Robert G. Thelwell, I Captained the Big Ships, comp. Robert Jackson (London: Arthur Barker Limited, 1961), 36.

Daniel Allen Butler, The Age of Cunard: A Transatlantic History 1839-2003 (Annapolis: Lighthouse Publishing, 2003), 241.

Elspeth Wills, Cunardia: A steamer trunk of titbits, trivia and trifles. (London: The Open Agency, 2005), 24.